River of the Spark
by SlugBug2002
Summary: What if Michaela Quinn's story happened in a different time period? Michaela Quinn leaves her sheltered life in England to join her father's estate in the Americas after the Revolutionary War. It is unlike anything she has ever experienced, and she meets a man unlike any other. She soon finds herself locked in conflict with citizens of her small town as well as her own family.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello! My name is Hannah, and this is my first DQ Fanfic! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Pardon any grammar mistakes I am only 16 and have not finished with my English classes yet! I can't wait to start this journey with you.**

Summary: What if Michaela Quinn's story happened in a different time period? Michaela Quinn leaves her sheltered life in England to join her father's estate in the Americas after the Revolutionary War. It is unlike anything she has ever experienced, and she meets a man unlike any other. She soon finds herself locked in conflict with citizens of her small town as well as her own family.

Chapter l

Michaela Ann Quinn, twenty-six years old and unmarried, woke up to the sound of distant shouting aboard the large ship taking her across the Atlantic. Hearing shouting was not uncommon considering her environment. She had guessed that there were more than 1,000 people- men, woman, and children crammed into this wooden ship, rolling and rocking at the mercy of the sea. The passage to America was treacherous by any standard. Even though her mother had paid an extra fee to keep her comfortable during the journey she had seen terrible misery, fever, dysentery, headache, and heat amongst the people on board. On her your first week aboard the ship there was a storm that pitched and rolled like a frantic child thrashing about in the waters of the choppy and wallowing sea. There were massive crests topped with white froth that charged through the sea. The water pulsated with life and seemed to smile a mocking smile at the plight of the helpless sailors. Although her journey to America was horrific she knew that it would all be worth it when she reached the promising and adventurous shores of the Americas. Much to her mother's dismay, It had been her idea to join her father in his estate in the remote mountain village in Pennsylvania. Michaela winced at the memory of her mother and sisters shocked faces when she had told them about her plans. "Hast your fath'r been putting m're nonsense inside thy head with his lett'rs." her mother had wined. "The new w'rld is not f'r a well-bred English woman such as yourself."

In the weeks after that conversation, her mother insisted on telling Michaela disturbing details of what her mother called "savagery" in the Americas. Michaela knew that her mother would never change her mind after saying no, and without her mother's permission, she would never be able to leave her sheltered and boring life in England. It wasn't until recently she had granted Michaela permission to leave. She found this incredibly odd because she had never known her mother to change her mind once she decided on something. When Michaela had asked why she changed her mind so suddenly she held up one hand to silence her and said, "T doesn't matt'r. I have written to your fath'r telling to expect your arrival bef're the first snowfalls th're." and with one stern look from her mother she turned and left her to pack by herself.

"Chile!" a voice called from behind startling her.

Hany, her servant who had been her caregiver since birth stood by Michaela's dressing table with her arms folded across her ample bosom. "We best get you up and dressed. There is land in sight!" she said putting a tray on a small table by her bed. The aroma of salted meat, dry biscuits and sauerkraut rose from the covered dishes and made Michaela's stomach turn in disgust.

Upon hearing the news she jumped up so quickly it almost knocked Hany off her feet."Is it true? Have we really reached land?" Michaela ran to the porthole and sure enough on the horizon, a green smudge of land appeared. Below her feet the ocean breathed, it's surface rising and falling with rhythmic ease. The waves became her pulse that day, slow and steady for the first time in months.

. . .

Michaela looked up and caught the sight of an eagle circling above her, she saw at once that she could not be far off from New Zion. Surrounding her was a world of green. The forest lay, like a soft green blanket, spilling over hills and pouring into valleys and up the snow-covered peaks of the mountains. For the first time in her journey, the world seemed silent. This was definitely not England, that was clear. This wasn't the port in New Jersey where Michaela waited for weeks for her trip north to begin either. Excitement filled her as she realized her journey was nearing its end. They set out early from Baltimore leaving the Motant Valley behind to follow the Thetan River north and then west.

They had eaten a hot lunch at midday in the sleigh while the horses took a rest, and now, Michaela found herself only a few miles from her new home and her new life. Beside Michaela, her father and Hany napped under the heap of blankets and pelts he had brought along. The only person who was awake was her father's driver, Joe, who was sitting on the driver box wrapped in layers of pelts and warm clothing. Michaela smiled at her surroundings, struggling with her many wraps until she could sit up straight. Then she drew in a sharp breath both at the cold and the beauty of the land. In the deep shadows of the wood, a large deer was stepping gracefully through the snow, moving toward the water. Birds sang from the branches as though to welcome her to enter.

Michaela paused as a double gunshot burst out and echoed over the valley and a male scream followed.

From behind his rugs and furs, her father stood up to observe, peering over the driver's box. "What in Gods name?!" Her father bellowed from the seat beside her. Just then a few men were emerging from the trees not far off from the sleigh.

"Stay with the sleigh," Josef called to his daughter as he leaped down and sped off toward the men.

Michaela was not surprised to be left behind; that was a woman's lot. Then she remembered this was not England, and that she might ask for-and do-things considered bold at home.

"Joe," she called up. "Can we please move forward a bit so I can see what's happening?"

"Might be dangerous, miss," the man answered from the depths of his mufflers and wraps.

When it was clear that the man meant what he said and did not intend to move, Michaela began to gather her skirts together. "Well, then, I will just go on foot," she said firmly. Michaela set off quickly as she was able, but the deep snow reached over her shoes and her clothes were heavy. By the time she came within a few feet of the men, she was flushed; pushing her hood of silk back onto her shoulders to feel the cold air on her skin. The men fell silent as she slowly approached them.

"Michaela. Go back to the sleigh, I believe you would be more comfortable." Her father said. Michaela glanced at the two strangers, who did not turn to greet her. This rudeness she took as a sign of disapproval, but Michaela was determined not to be sent off like a young child.

"What happened, Father?"

One of the strangers spoke up, "Someone shot at us from the bushes."

"Somebody shot at you," she said, stunned.

"Ain't the first time," he said grimly. "Probably not the last, either." At that one of the strangers turned toward Michaela. Surprised, she saw that- although dressed like a native, and wearing a feather in their unbound hair- he was not Indian. A flower of blood flowed freely on his right shoulder. Michaela stepped toward him, but he stepped back just as quickly; surprised, she looked from his wound to his face. He had tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerising deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and defined, his features molded from granite. He had dark eyebrows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression.

A half hour later, once again on their way, Michaela found herself seated across from the two men whom she had just been introduced in the most unusual manner. Cloud Dancing was the focus of her father's attention and Byron Sully who was sitting across from her in utter silence.

Byron Sully had only agreed to come with them into the village for medical treatment from her father. Michaela found herself glancing up at this Byron far more often than she knew she should, and she found him looking at her too. Each time their eyes met Michaela looked away and vowed to not look up again, but she could not curb her curiosity about this white man, dressed like an Indian. She had heard him speaking in a different language which must be native. There was a serious wound in his shoulder which had been quickly stanched with her father's handkerchief and her own scarf. It seemed not to concern him at all; he was determined to look at her, and only her, without pause. This behavior unnerved her so much that Michaela could not think of anything appropriate to say to him.

"Mr. Sully, why do you suppose someone shot at you?" Michaela said breaking the silence.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glared at her father, "Trespassin'."

"Surely you meant no harm. Who owns the land, perhaps we can find who did this to you."

There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone in the sleigh looked toward Michaela with blank stares. "Your father owns the land." He said coldly.

After a pause that seemed to go on forever, Hany spoke up, "Your father paid good gold for this land when it was took away from the loyalist an auctioned."

Michaela kept her mouth shut because she was afraid of what she might say. In her father's letters he never mentioned he owned such vast amounts of land, nor did he mention he had henchmen going around shooting at trespassers. _I will definitely bring this up to Father later_, Michaela thought, _it tisn't right_.

Almost as if her father read her thoughts he turned to him and said, "The guards I hire to protect the area should know that I have given both of you permission to hunt on my land. I haven't told them to shoot at anyone without proper cause either. I will find out who is responsible and fire them upon arrival."

"Maybe it wasn't your guard who shot at us."

At that moment, the sleigh came to a halt in front of a house built of timber and stone and Michaela looked up in surprise. The entire journey her father had not mentioned a single detail of her new home. In her fathers letters he wrote that the house was the result of years of hard labour on the back of civilian workers. It was the jewel of the river and the house of an important doctor. The house was long and narrow and stretched some thirty feet back like a giant shoe box. It was two stories high and had a one story extension at the rear for the kitchen. A small rose garden had been planted in front, and although it had obviously once been carefully planned and loved, it was now riddled with weeds.

"Well, there is a meal waiting for us inside, nobody will leave this house hungry tonight. But first I need to attend to Sully's injury. Joe! Have Mundy see to the luggage." The doctor helped his daughter from the sleigh, and then turned to the hunters and smiled. "Let's see to your needs right away," he said and started toward the house.

Michaela was left to find her own way to her room. When she had located it and closed the door behind her, she found herself suddenly exhausted. There was a fire in the small hearth, and she gratefully fell into the chair next to it, barely looking around herself at the beautiful decorations. The couch was cream but inlaid with a fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but she knew they took hundreds of hours to sew. The white curtains are linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. The floor was a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter. With shaky hands she removed her cloak and hood. Quickly she washed her face and neck in cool water and then in took out the pins which held her hair in place to shake her hair free. It flew around her like a veil and rippled below her waist.

Michaela realized with a start that her bags were not yet in the room. Smoothing down her rumpled traveling dress as best she could, Michaela made her way downstairs but found that the foyer was empty. She was confronted with several closed doors. She knocked on one of the doors and then opened the door and found her fathers empty study. The next door she tried opened into the dining room, with a table set for a midday meal, but also empty.

Michaela opened the third door and found herself in a parlor. Byron Sully was sitting directly before her stripped to the waist on a low stool in front of the window. Her father hovered behind his shoulder with a bloodstained rag in one hand and a suture in the other. The two of them looked up at Michaela in surprise. She felt herself flooding with color. There was a surprised look that crossed Byron Sully's face. Her father opened his mouth to speak but Michaela spun around and slammed the door shut behind her, her face burning as she ran up the stairs.

"Michaela!" Her father called forcing her to turn. "Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes, father I was just looking for my bags."

Her father put an arm around her shoulder "Go back to your room, my dear. I will send someone to fetch your things. David is anxious to meet you, so put on something nice."

The tone of her father's voice was coaxing and unfamiliar and made Michaela stop in her flight up the stairs. "David?"

Her father smiled. "David Lewis- I've written to you about him. He is very anxious to be introduced to you."

An unsettling thought came to Michaela's head. Suddenly uneasy, she wanted nothing more than to get away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Il

When Mundy brought up her trunks Phibe Thomas, her father's chambermaid, insisted on coming along to help Michaela get settled, but there was more on her than just baggage on her mind.

"That father of yours is still getting himself in more trouble and mischief than it's worth." she began without introduction. Michaela attempted to lift her trunks against Phibes protest who grabbed them from her hands and moved them without a struggle as if they were as light as a feather. She had broad hands and muscular arms, there was no doubt that she was capable.

"Well child, never you mind. Now that you're here I know you can keep that father of yours in line."

Some might have said that Michaela had her father wrapped around her finger, but Michaela didn't think that way she thought that she had one of the most prized privileges in the world: a father's love.

"Miss Thomas-" Michaela started.

"No, mistress please call me Phibe. That's what everyone else calls me."

Michaela smiled, "Well, then, please call me Michaela. Strange, it seems everyone in this place goes by their first name." This was a social violation that would have never been acceptable at home; Michaela knew that if her sister was here she would say that she was becoming far too familiar with her servants. "Has my father done well by you?" Phibe stood up suddenly and gave Michaela a long look. Then she smiled. "Well, the menfolk are waiting on us. We must get you to the table immediately" She turned around and headed for the door, her skirt swirling behind her. Michaela felt uneasy about her sudden resistance, "Has my father done well by you?" She repeated. Phibe spoke with her back toward Michaela. "Yes, he done well by me. But there are others who think otherwise." Finally, she turned and saw questions forming in Michaela's face.

"Time to get to the table," she said, and she was gone before Michaela could ask any more questions.

When Michaela had changed into a simple green dress and tamed her hair into a roll along the back of her head, she stood looking at herself in the mirror. The image of Byron Sully, bare chested, rose up before her and she scowled fiercely at herself. He was waiting downstairs, so was the mysterious David Lewis, and she would have to deal with both of them. This was not what she had expected for the first day in her new home. In England she was worth much in society; tho she had prefered the company of her father's books.

When she could wait no longer, Michaela found her way down to the dining room where the meal and the men waited for her. Her father took her by the arm with great enthusiasm, her and presented her to Dr. Lewis; Michaela smiled politely and answered his questions about her trip and health, all the while aware of Sully, who stood with his back against the wall with his arms crossed, and his gaze fixed only on her.

David Lewis did his best to capture all her attention for himself: he was talkative and amusing. She judged him to be just over thirty. and the look of his brown eyes and his main of brown hair was friendly and seemed sincere.

Seated at the end of the table opposite her father, Michaela found herself too near Byron Sully for comfort. He was on her left; David Lewis sat to her right. Michaela noted with relief that the three men had immediately taken up the conversation on the war abound to start in France and she would not have to entertain the four men.

I can manage this, she said to herself firmly, and she turned to Sully, determined to make a new start with this strange man. He wore his own clothing again, the dressing on his wounded shoulder showing through, still stained in blood.

"Mr. Sully, are you in pain." she asked. "Is your wound distressing?"

"Just Sully please," he corrected her. Then: "I am comfortable enough now, miss. Thank you kindly for your concern."

"You are most kindly welcome." she said, mathings Sully's tone of mild impertinence.

The dining room was small and somewhat dark. She was lost on how to start a conversation which would engage both David and Sully; subject which were stapes of polite dinner conversation at home would not do here, and she did not know them well enough to bring up more controversial political topics, although she would have like to have their opinions. Michaela glanced around the room again and noted the number of wood carvings. Her eyes followed the carving of what she assumed was a hawk and it enchanted her. She knew that someone carved this with such love in their heart, how else could it be so beautiful?

"I see that my father has been collecting the works of local woodworkers." Michaela said to both David and Sully. "Interesting, some of them. I like the hawk."

The corners of Sully's mouth turned upward in a smile that she had not yet seen. "That an eagle, miss."

"Is that so, I admit that I haven't seen enough eagles to know. But I do like it."

"I'm surprised you like it, it's very lopsided if you ask me." Sully said, and Michaela turned to him.

"I agree that not all artworks are equal, but aren't you being rather hard on the artist?" Michaela asked.

"I have to be." Sully said calmly. "As the artist. Your father has an interest in the things I create, same as you."

Michaela was surprised to learn that he had created the piece. In England, young women were sent to school to learn how to make pretty sketches of mountains and flowers, but it was unusual to find a young man interested in such an art.

"Does art interest you?" Sully asked her.

She laughed. "I admit, I have no talent for it," she said. "But with the landscapes around me perhaps I will try my hand at it."

"Don't you find it magnificent," she continued, addressing her remark to David and Sully, who fixed his attention on her willingly, "That the beauty of this land has been untouched and unappreciated for such a long time?"

"This land was not empty before the Europeans came," he said in a sour tone.

"Excuse me Mr. Sully," began David, but Sully cut him off. "It was not untouched," he continued. "And it definitely was anything but unappreciated." With a glance toward David, and then her father, who was deeply involved in his own conversation and who had not followed their exchanged, Sully stopped himself.

Michaela was astonished and intrigued all at once; she wanted to hear what Sully had to say. But before she could think of some way to make this clear to him, David Lewis claimed her attention.

"I assume you will want to have a look around the village, Miss Michaela," the doctor said to her with a friendly smile, helping himself to venison from the platter. "You must be quite curious about your new home."

Michaela turned to him. "Yes, I am looking forward to my first trip to the village. I am especially curious to meet my future patients."

"Patients?" David smiled forcibly.

Michaela looked toward her father, who was talking to Sully's friend. "Yes. It would be hard to practice medicine without them."

"You're a healer?" Sully asked. His agitation had disappeared. His gaze was cool, but engaged.

"Why, yes," she said. "I do. That is why I came here."

"Your father hasn't said anything about that," said David.

For a moment Michaela was truly speechless. She had spent months in England preparing for her new role in the colonies. She had bought and read medical books, consulted educators. It had consumed her completely, and now she found out that her father had never even mentioned her plans to his closest companions. She felt Davids eyes on her, and she knew the only way to rescue the new life she had thought to claim for herself was to speak up for herself as she had never spoken up for herself before.

"Father?" said Michaela. "There seems to be some confusion. How is it that Dr. Lewis and Mr. Sully haven't heard my career plans?"

The doctor's eyes darted form Michaela to David and back again.

"My dear," he began slowly. "All good things in their time, eh? You'll need a few weeks at least to settle in.

Michaela struggled to keep her growing surprise and distress hidden. She put down her fork and folded her hands in front of her with deliberation. "I can at least make a list of the families and learn more about them. And my office where I will be practicing will need to be in order."

"What office?" Asked Sully. "There is no doctors office in this village that I know of, miss."

This was a shock. In her fathers letters he had written of a building just out of town where she could do her work. Had he been lying? She lifted an eyebrow toward her father and waited. "You don't mean to tell me there is really no such building?"

The doctor cleared his throat expansively. "Well, maybe not technically, not yet, but there will be."

"Father," she began slowly. "You wrote to me that would provide me with-"

"So I did," he interrupted, glancing at David. "So I did. And I will see to it you will have what you need. An office will be built."

"In the meantime perhaps I can use this house to tend to patients?"

"Why Michaela, that's appalling," said the doctor. "It's far too unsanitary to have patients here. Besides, I can't think of anyone at the moment who would be in need of medical services. Let's put aside this conversation for another time."

Unwilling to let the conversation drop she turned toward David, "Do you believe that there is no one in the village I can tend to."

He thought for a moment, "I would say there are dozens or more. But they will not want medical attention."

"And why not?"

David stayed silent and looked down to avoid her eyes, "Some of them aren't free."

She felt Sully's intensify and she glanced up at him; on his face Michaela say something unexpected: astonishment. She addressed him.

"Mr. Sully," she began.

"Sully," he corrected her once again.

"Surely they wouldn't mind if I tended to them."

He nodded. "They might," he said. "But the owners will mind."

"Come now Michaela, don't upset yourself," the doctor said, pursing his lips.

David Lewis shifted uneasily in his seat as she drew herself up and turned her attention to her father. He anticipated her question. "Michaela, I have never owned slaves."

"You allow the village to hold slaves, so you not?"

The doctor flushed in agitation. "That is not something I can determine personally," he said. "Just because I own land does not mean I control legislature. You must know that some slave owners are fair-minded people, good people." he said feebly.

"How would you know that?" she demanded. "How can you know that? How can you find anything fair in slavery?"

David Lewis spoke up. "Because your father knows me, and I have two slaves," he said.

Michaela's face drained of color; she addressed her father without acknowledging Dr. Lewis.

"Will approach each of the slave owners, then, and ask for permission."

"No slave owner is going to send his slaves to you, Michaela," Sully said quietly. She turned to him and saw that he did not mean to offend her, but that he also was unwilling to spare her the truth.

"I must try at any rate," Michaela said. The men looked at eachother. "Now if you excuse me, gentlemen, I beg your leave to retire."

"But Michaela," her father protested. "You have hardly eaten anything."

She stood, smoothing her skirt as she did so, sent her father one long silent look, and took her leave of the party.


End file.
